She Brittles
by mylittleblackfrost
Summary: Natalia Romanova's shell is being peeled open bit by bit by the evil demigod Loki Laufeyson. She finds her cold act slowly melting away as her heart is stolen by him to bleed. He will not rest until she is bare and raw before him, until she is naked and vulnerable in his cruel icy menacing eyes. He's danger, a toxic acid to her, but she can handle it just fine. Can she? BLACKFROST.
1. Chapter One

Natalia is no mindless killer. But her superiors seem to think she's emotionless and detached, that she is completely unfazed with murdering a target's family, having an aim on a little child on a playground.

It's complicated when the job is done. She gets mixed feelings about it. She can't sleep at night. She thinks she sees ghosts in the shadows.

She isn't sure if it's a normal thing for an assassin. But she's learned to deal with it.

No one reads through her. She has a hardened cold mask up front, people believe that she is incapable of emotion. She wants them to think that way, make them believe in a nonexistent side she is showing them. But feelings are distractions, little things like that will make you trip over and sabotage everything. An emotion is like a fly. She feels it, but she can ignore it before it starts to spread and she has to refrain herself from acting on it. It's hard not to snap at times. But she's gone through so much painful training that she handles it with ease.

The Black Widow title has gotten her so far that she has not an ounce of patience for feelings. She does what she has to.

But all the training programming in the world, and her emotionless stoic act, cannot save her from meeting one evil demigod who will change absolutely everything.

A nightmare awaiting in the future.

The short stay in the cabin house has already started as a misery. All cities of Russia are less colder than it's forests, that's a logical fact.

Making a fire with wounded hands is frustrating enough.

She already wants to jump herself in the fire. Is that enough of an explanation of how freezing it is?

This is the worst safehouse coming from the KGB. She rolls her eyes for the sixth time, giving up from trying to get her hands warm from the small warmth the fire gives.

She'll be leaving tomorrow anyhow. Her mission is completed, all she needs now is rest. But when she gets back to her apartment in Moscow, she will have herself in a hot bath. Not a warm bath. A hot bath. A very steaming hot bath. The thought of lava has her already curling her toes in need of heat.

As a Siberian-born child, it is surprising to watch herself writhe under the terrible merciless temperature of this forest. She wasn't ready to tolerate this kind of cold, honestly speaking.

It worsens as time passes and the sky darkens, the fire still cracking but the warmth dissipates.

She stops going through her weapons duffle bag and watches the small fire with her arms crossed. Weighing on the options of going outside to collect some wood or wake up tomorrow morning with her body frosted with ice.

She sighs.

Collect some wood it is.

Out into the cold.

She grabs another jacket after putting her GLOCK gun into her thigh holster before she pulls the door open.

She winces when the cold howling wind hits her and she walks down the porch rigidly, slamming the door close.

She doesn't shiver or clatter her teeth together. Her face is stony as she walks rigid and fast, heading to the small storage room in a short distant where she found countless of chopped wood. She did take many, but they were too frosted to make a fire with. Even as she did succeed on making a fire, it still wasn't strong enough. And that's why she's here outside again.

The damn cold.

"Der'mo." She grumbles, her face feeling numb. She stops abruptly when she hears something snap, her hand hovering over her GLOCK but she's motionless. Her eyes slightly widen in alert. She narrows her eyes before she turns around, gun already in hand, only to have it pointed at nothing. She grounds her teeth and makes an unsatisfied grumble, her sharp eyes snapping every direction. She feels something wrong. She knows something is wrong.

No.

What she feels is a presence.

Another snap.

She swiftly turns, gun in hand, and takes a different direction, her heart pumping faster in anticipation.

If she is going to have to fight someone in the cold, it would be quite gritty and slower and heavier than normal. Considering how rigid her limps feel and the numbing cold.

Her breath puffs into the cold air and she watches it blow away along with the wind momentarily, as she walks very slowly and quietly, gun carefully raised in her hand.

She inhales and exhales smoothly, calm and ready for any sort of attack.

But then she comes upon a wounded man instead -- who is attempting to sit up using his elbow, grunting as he tries to lift his upper body before he falls onto his back.

Natalia walks closer, carefully and quietly, her GLOCK gun not lowered. Suspicion and curiosity have taken over her.

The man is dressed in an unusual green golden rich complicated attire. His hair long black as the night, his face as white as the snow beneath him.

Natalia watches him for a moment longer, having stopped a few feet away. She waits for him to notice her with the GLOCK gun still pointed at him.

She gets a feeling that he knows that she's there and she's scrutinizing him suspiciously.

She feels like she should do something, but refrains herself from trying to even go near him.

He'll die from hypothermia if she just stands there. Or maybe he is dying right now.

But this wasn't part of her mission.

No where in the file does it mention that she must nurse a strange man with lanky legs.

Maybe she should just leave him here. He isn't her responsibility.

Her patience is wearing thin.

Her thoughts race around her head and she feels like she is going to go mad if she just stands there. Doing nothing. Like a fool.

Natalia always finds a way.

She must now.

"Yebat' eto." She hisses to herself, holstering her gun back in it's place and decides to aid this stranger.

She kneels down and feels for his pulse.

She sighs in relief to find that there is a pulse, and it is a strong one too. Surprisingly so.

She touches the man's cheek gently and looks at him.

She blinks dismisses the obvious strangely attractiveness of this unconscious man and focuses on trying to wake him up instead. Putting aside the scratches small bruises on his face.

She pats his cheek lightly. "Ser? Zdravstvuyte?" She shakes him lightly, but doesn't get a single reaction. "Vstavay. That way I won't have to carry you." She inwardly rolls her eyes to herself. Like she'd carry a man his size, his upper body would hang off on her if so.

She slaps the man's cheek hard before she sees him stir slightly, and then the slits of his eyes opening slowly. He blinks lightly and stares back at her with a frown on his bruised pale chiseled face. His eyes icy are light blue silver, corresponding well with the weather and his surrounding.

Now Natalia is shivering relentlessly from being outside too long, and she feels numb and dizzy in the head and rigid. She can't breathe, and her eyelids feel heavy, and her heart beats slow down.

Then, she sinks into darkness.


	2. Chapter Two

She stirs, her closed eyes fluttering lightly as she faintly jerks her head. Warmth soaks her body and she sinks into it, the air she's breathing in and the atmosphere evenly warm.

Her eyes open slowly and she blinks, her vision clearing she takes in her surroundings.

She's in the safehouse.

Her mission is completed.

Her hand instantly feels for her GLOCK gun in her thigh holster and her recent memories come back to her in a rush.

Wood.

Outside.

Snow. Forest.

Strange man.

She immediately sits up from the bed and pounces fast, standing with her GLOCK gun snatched out of the thigh holster as she looks at the closed door of the small bedroom with a small scowl on her face.

She breathes in and out hard, before turning her head around.

She looks through the window behind her, to see that it is already nighttime. She can hear the howling whistling of the snow storm outside. Her face scrunches in confusion, expecting herself to tremble or shake. Expecting the cold to bite her.

But it doesn't, not the slightest. Not even a chill.

She swallows hard, her suspicions going high and her instincts screaming at her that something is happening. Something that shouldn't be happening.

She walks slowly to the door, trying to be quiet but the wooden floorboard squeaks beneath her heeled boots. She carefully twists the doorknob, opens the door, and looks both sides to find that the hallway is empty, then she fully steps out.

She begins walking through the hallway with measured quiet steps, both hands holding her GLOCK gun. It's awfully quiet in the house, too quiet. Her nerves are high hard to ignore.

The empty small interior room is her front vision as she walks through the hallway, and once she reaches the end of it, raising her GLOCK gun in hand, the weapon suddenly melts into blue dust that smoothly seeps through her fingers, falling onto the floorboard and turns to nothing.

Her eyes widen. "Kakiye?" She gasps in utter shock.

"That is no way to make a proper introductory, my dear." A teasing sultry English voice startles her.

Her eyes snap to the man who has oddly emerged before her and is leaning against the wall behind the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. A small smirk on his face.

His face.

She blinks hard.

Last time she remembers seeing him for the first time, his face had small scratches and bruises on it.

And now it's flawless, and he's standing upright. Not at all appearing like the wounded man she stumbled across in the woods.

She hardens her face.

She remembers blacking out. He must have carried her back in here, finding the cabin house himself.

She eyes him sharply.

He's wearing some sort of green cloak and an odd rich attire. His black shoulder-length hair spikey on the ends. She wonders how it'd feel like if she sinks her fingers through his locks. Maybe silky. It certainly has an interesting texture to it.

"Who are you?" She demands, the distrust apparent in her deep shamrock eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest and coldly glares at him.

She should be worried how her gun turned to dust, and how he suddenly appeared in the place he's standing now from nowhere.

"Apparently saving a maiden doesn't get you the gratitude you'd deserve." He chuckles softly. "I could've just left you out there to freeze into ice, but I need someone to show me around." He says, his small smirk unwavering under her unmoving impassive gaze.

She doesn't reply, instead pinning him with her sharp eyes.

"I am Loki Laufeyson, banished by my fake father from my home."

Natalia quirks up an eyebrow.

"I need a companion through this realm, and you will help me." His voice is smooth and icy. "But what realm is this? Answer me that."

Natalia coolly regards him before answering with a tight voice. "I'm not certain of the name of this forest. All I can say is somewhere in Russia, if it's any obvious."

Loki frowns lightly. "I have not heard of such a name. But alright." He seems confused.

Natalia raises both eyebrows. "You've never heard of Russia?"

"None of the nine realms have a name of that." He answers.

Natalia quirks an eyebrow again. She isn't sure if he's referring to the continents of the world but she's certain that there are seven.

"You're lost." She says.

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't need to be found."

Natalia suppresses a sigh and stares at him blankly.

He can't know who she is, but he hasn't asked anything. Nor has he shown to be a threat to her. But the cool arrogant aroma coming from him unsettles her. And there is something cunning or perhaps dark about his eyes. She cannot trust him, but she does need to get rid of him. Maybe she can drop him off to Moscow before they go their separate ways.

"Why is it not cold in here?" She asks instead.

"You're welcome by the way." He smirks.

She briefly grits her teeth together. "What are you?"

"A demigod." His smirk widens. "A prince. Your future king. Soon you will kneel before my feet." He says with a soft growl.

Natalia tries not to blink or cringe. She doesn't know if he is mocking her or just being a smug asshole. She narrows her eyes at him and glowers. "I will have my gun back."

"I can't let that happen, darling. You should know your place. It is dark, take your rest for this late hour. Tomorrow morning we will start."

Start what?

She tries not to flinch.

This man thinks he is so entitled.

She doesn't know where he comes from or who he really is, but she will not be ordered around like that by some stranger. She doesn't have to do anything for him.

She takes dangerous steps closer, dropping her arms to her sides. "You will give me my gun." She repeats calmly, stopping just before the couch that's between them.

He smoothly leans off the wall, his smirk dropping. "I told you to go get rest. You do not demand things from me. Obey me and I won't make you slumber on the floor with the warmth-spell dropped. You should be thanking me, little woman. I am giving you a favour."

Natalia coolly smirks, the first uplift of her thick lips, but it's cold and of cruel intentions. The Black Widow's smug stare means danger.

She steps back and turns her back to him, walking to the chair in the corner that has her weapons duffel bag on it. She unzips it and picks a gun, planning to get rid of the certain nuisance in this room. Her smirk widens when she handles the berretta pistol in her hand, before she promptly turns and sends a few bullets his way.

She watches the look of confusion and shock on his frowning face. His jaw drops and he slowly looks down to his chest that has three bloodless bullet holes, his rich attire now ruined.

She blinks, waiting for him to collapse and die. But she is only met with a dark look when he lifts his head to her.

Her eyebrow twitches, staring at his chest that is supposedly not bleeding like it should be.

She raises the berreta pistol again but it goes flying out of her hand before she can even shoot. She widens her eyes and looks at him outrageously. Then he vanishes from her sight, making her blink with disbelief. All her training is thrown out the window, she does not know how to handle a situation such as this, was never taught any of this. She's handled a supersoldier before, Alexei Shostakov, but that's where the line of strangeness ends. She doesn't know what this is. She panics, and begins to turn her head to find him. When she does so she gasps, almost bumping noses with him. She steps back, all her instincts thrown out the window, and he steps closer. She won't fight this one. Not when she doesn't know what she's dealing with here. So she let's him have control, for now

"You, my darling, are in trouble." He says in his silky icy voice. For every step she takes back, he mimics coming closer to her. He watches the look of what seems to be slight terror in her eyes but he isn't sure if he can place it as such, though he is certain that she is nervous.

He looks angry, dangerously so. "I will make you pay for that." He growls, grabbing her by her arm and presses her to him. She darkens her glare when he takes out a sharp dagger and he brings it closer to her neck. "A peasant who shows disrespect and disobedience to their royal superiors shall be served with retribution." He darkly smirks as he watches her jerk her head back from the dagger nearing her neck. He grabs a fistful of her hair tightly and brings her closer to the tip of the blade, making her gasp. "I can make you bleed." He snarls. She struggles against his grip, realizing with a grunt that her strength is no match to his. "I can snap your neck like a twig and watch your body collapse like a puppet with cut strings." He lets go of her hair and puts his dagger away, but then his hand curls on her neck and he tightens it slightly. "But I won't. Although I should." His eyes narrow. "Consider yourself lucky, little woman. So, for your own pathetic life my patience, listen to me."


End file.
